


Untitled Domestic Fluff (Dog)

by the_misfortune_teller



Series: Right Where I Belong [27]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dog - Freeform, Established Relationship, Family of Dorks, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_misfortune_teller/pseuds/the_misfortune_teller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“No!” Stiles starts, looking over at Oliver, who seems to have perfected a look of out and out innocence in a worryingly short space of time. “Why would I dress the dog up?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Why do you do anything?” Derek asks teasingly, lifting his arm as Remy squeezes past him and into the room. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Domestic Fluff (Dog)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeCaStDe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCaStDe/gifts).



Stiles steps out into the hallway, keeping his tread light. It’s far too quiet in the house and he doesn’t like it; doesn’t like that Derek’s not here to listen out to whatever it is Oliver is getting up to that’s keeping him so quiet.

He hears a muffled giggle as he steps on to the stairs and it suddenly occurs to him that not only has he not seen Oliver for the last two hours, he hasn’t seen Potato, their long suffering dog, either. That in itself isn’t entirely surprising, as usually wherever Oliver goes, Potato isn’t far behind, wheezing and puffing along after him as fast as his stumpy legs will allow.

Peering through Oliver’s open bedroom door, he spots Potato’s lying on the floor beside the bed, his whole back end wobbling as he wags his tail at whatever it is Oliver is saying to him. He pushes the door open a little further and slaps his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh when he sees that Potato is currently dressed in one of Remy’s t-shirts and a scarf, and Oliver is very pre-occupied with tugging what appear to be his old baby socks over Potato’s paws.

“Whatcha doing, Ol?” Stiles asks, leaning against the door frame and folding his arms across his chest.

Oliver quickly shoves his hands behind his back, hiding the sock he’s holding, like that’ll convince Stiles that someone else dressed the dog up.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles replies as he steps into the room and sits down on the end of the bed, watching Potato as he makes a whining noise and flops down next to Oliver, covering his nose with his paws. Stiles had never realized before that dogs could look embarrassed. “So did Ol’ Spuddy here put your sister’s shirt on all by himself?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles grins and holds out his hand. “Gimme the sock.”

Oliver hesitates for a moment before pulling his hand out from behind his back and proffering the sock; it’s from Stiles’ favorite pair of Oliver’s socks. A pair that Isaac bought for him when he was small, with little dinosaurs on them. Stiles remembers being very jealous of these socks; he wants dinosaurs on _his_ socks. He pats the comforter as he takes the sock from Oliver, encouraging Potato up and onto the bed and flashes Oliver a conspiratorial grin before pulling it onto Potato’s left front paw.

“You dressed the dog up?”

Stiles whips round to see Derek standing in his so recently vacated spot in the doorway, his eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline as he stares at Stiles. Remy’s peering around from behind him, her forehead creasing as she recognizes the shirt Potato’s wearing. 

“That’s my shirt, Dad,” She complains trying to lift Potato off his belly so she can pull it off him; Potato just whines in response and refuses to move, gazing up at Stiles imploringly. “Why’d you let him wear my shirt? He’ll make it all hairy!”

“Yeah Stiles,” Derek smirks. “Why’d you let him wear Rem’s shirt?”

“I didn’t!”

“He made him wear my socks too,” Oliver pipes up, scrambling off the floor and onto his bed so he can hug the dog, his arms wrapped tightly around Potato’s neck and his cheek pressed against his fur.

“Thanks a lot, Ollie,” Stiles laughs, reaching across and ruffling his son’s hair. “Last time I help you with anything.”

He looks up sharply at Derek’s stifled snort of amusement, smiling happily when Derek inclines his head towards the stairs. Giving Oliver’s hair one last tousle, Stiles gets to his feet and follows him from the room, leaving Remy and Oliver to argue over whether they should take her shirt off the dog or not.

:::

Later that night, Stiles is curled up on the couch watching yet another procedural cop drama with Derek’s feet wedged between his thighs, while Derek doodles in his sketchbook. Stiles isn’t really paying all that much attention to the television; he only watches the show because his Dad likes it and likes to talk to him about it the next day. He hears the familiar thump of Potato jumping off Oliver’s bed and glances towards the door, waiting for the dog to appear.

When Potato does finally wander through into the lounge, Stiles nearly falls off the couch he’s laughing so hard. Oliver’s baby socks are still covering his paws, and he’s slipping all over the hardwood floor as he tries to make it across the room where they’re sitting, looking even more pathetic that usual.

“Take them off him,” Derek manages to gasp out through his laughter, pushing at Stiles’ legs until he grudgingly rolls off the couch and goes to rescue Potato from the socks. “Before he hurts himself.”

Potato, on the other hand, seems to have other plans and scoots away from Stiles as fast as he can manage, wriggling behind the couch before Stiles can grab hold of him.

“Make him come out,” Stiles complains, trying to wedge himself into the gap between the couch and the wall to reach the dog. Derek ignores him, and more importantly refuses to get off the couch so Stiles can at least pull it forward to retrieve their stupid pet.

“You could help,” Stiles grouses as he pushes himself up and onto his knees’, glaring at Derek over the arm of the couch. “It’s your stupid dog.”

“You put the socks on him,” Derek replies, throwing his sketchbook onto the coffee table so he can lean over and grab a handful of Stiles’ shirt, pulling him close. “He’s your problem.”

“Actually,” Stiles corrects him as he clambers over the arm of the couch and deposits himself in Derek’s lap, tangling his fingers into his hair and tilting his head back so he can kiss him. “It was your odd child that dressed him up. I just helped.”

“Mmm,” Derek hums as he presses a chaste kiss against Stiles’ lips. “Why is it that he’s suddenly _my_ child when he does something weird?”

Stiles elects not to answer that, and tugs on Derek’s hair again until he tips his head back against the couch cushions and nips at the side of his neck. He sighs happily as Derek wraps his arms more tightly around his waist, eagerly letting Derek lick into his mouth. They’ve been together for twenty one years now, married for nearly six of those years and Stiles loves that Derek still makes him feel the way he did when he was sixteen and everything was new and exciting between them.

Only Derek is suddenly pulling away from their kiss, trying, and failing, to hold back a snort of laughter; Derek gestures over his shoulder when Stiles frowns at him, and he turns to see Potato sneak-sliding away across the lounge, his belly hitting the floor every couple of steps when a leg slips out from under him.

“Look,” Stiles sighs, dropping his head onto Derek’s shoulder and sighing loudly. “I think we just have to accept that our dog is weird and that from now on, he wears socks.”

“You’re weird and I’ve accepted you,” Derek replies fondly, his fingers digging into Stiles hips tightly as he grinds up against him. Dogs in socks are promptly forgotten as they tip toe up the stairs, groping at each other like a pair of teenagers, Derek nipping at Stiles’ fingers when he tries to shush him.

:::

Its three days before Derek finally relents and takes the socks off Potato. He lies between them and the television and whines for a solid hour afterwards, pointedly licking his front paws while he stares up at them mournfully.  

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://the-misfortune-teller.tumblr.com), bitches


End file.
